Rage Against the Dying
by Cortheira Blackelf
Summary: I've been working on this for quite a while now, and though it's not near finished, I felt I should post something on The plot summary is in the story, but suffice it to say it involves death, vengeance, and acceptance


Title: Rage against the Dying

Summary: Finally the nets of mortality have caught Aragorn, leaving behind an entire world in shock. Arwen is inconsolable, Legolas locked up in his own thoughts, Eldarion trying to keep a clear head as he takes up his father's title.

But someone will not let the dead rest or the mourners heal.

Rating: T/ R for violence, angst, and (possibly) implied rape. Also, some very very very rare profanity, only when necessary for impact (least it's a chance, not finished yet, am I?)

Note: The times have been warped for the sake of sparing the reader needless confusion over who's who's grandpa, etc. For the sake of a timeframe, Eldarion is about 87 in this story (ooh… symbolism… my English teachers would be proud).

Warning: Side effects of this story may include depression, runny noses, tissue overdose, and an extreme longing for your teddy bear. I'm not kidding: this is pretty depressing stuff in here. Also, this story includes character death, lots of it. And I hope I'm not being repetitive when people die in childbirth. Millions die around the globe due to miscarriages and other complications, and it's not like Elven nurses could perform C-Sections.

Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it was. All the lyrics/poetry I use are their respective authors. I mainly use "Do not go gentle" by Dylan Thomas and "Passive" by A Perfect Circle, with a little Poe and Snow Patrol thrown in.

Genre: Mystery/Drama/Horror

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

Chapter 1

Aragorn knew what had happened even before the scream.

He stopped his pacing for the first time in hours and ran toward the heavy oaken doors. Before he could open them with such force as to rip off the hinges, a small, elderly nurse rushed out the doors, heading in the general direction of the nearest water pump.

"Ioreth! Ioreth!" He yelled, grasping her skinny arm before she even could register his presence. "Ioreth, how is my wife? How's the baby? Is it a boy or a girl? What-"

"King Ellessar, Lady Arwen has given birth to a baby boy who, I am delighted to say, looks exactly like his father." Ioreth said gently, wiggling her arm out of his vice-like grip. "However, you cannot see her just yet, she's resting and-"

The King's face, who had relaxed for a few moments, paled once again to an unhealthy shade of gray. "Resting? Why is she resting? Is she well? What about my son?"

"My lord, she is tired. You would be too, after 13 hours of labor. And your son is fine, we're cleaning him up now."

"Cleaning up? What do you mean? What happened? Why does he need to be cleaned?"

The nurse attempted to keep a professional air about her, but a smile ticked at her lips. "Lord Ellessar, in all due respect, how many babies have you delivered?"

Now that he thought about it, not many. Elrond had always shooed him out of the hospital when a woman went into labor, muttering something about not being mature enough. "Um…"

"That's what I thought. Sir, I let you do your job. Let me do mine." She walked back into the room, closing the doors firmly behind her. He thought he heard her bolt the door, but why would she do that?

"Relax Mellon." Legolas, who had watched the scene with amusement, rose from the window seat on which he had been sitting comfortably. "You heard Ioreth. Your wife and child are fine."

Aragorn sighed and looked up for heavenly guidance. "Yes, I know. But that's my son in there! I deserve to know what he looks like! "

Legolas smiled and made room for Ellessar. "You have the rest of your life, Estel, to find that out. In the meantime, do yourself a favor and relax."

Aragorn took the advice and collapsed next to his friend. "I can't wait for the day when I can sit and laugh while _you_ raise Mordor with all your pacing.

Legolas' grin faded into a look of concern. "Oh…didn't I tell you that… the messenger came today…"

"What? Did something happen to your wife? Is she OK? Legolas, what happened?" Aragorn straightened back up and looked questioningly at his friend.

"Lineth…" Legolas looked at the floor, trying to hide his excitement. "Is…going to have a child."  
Aragorn's eyes bulged out and his mouth gaped open in joy. "That's great news, Legolas!…Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

The elf smiled, happy that his friend was finally paying attention. "You seemed a little preoccupied."

"No, no, no, this is important! Tell me everything, mellon! I have no distractions now-"

"Lord Ellessar!" Ioreth yelled through the door. "You can come in now."

Completely forgetting his now bewildered friend, Aragorn leapt up and sprinted for the room. He ran straight to the four-poster bed, almost tripped over it, put himself together, and looked down.

I bet you think that I'm going to say that Eldarion was a beautiful, healthy bundle of joy. I'm sorry to say that you'll be disappointed.

'Dear Valar. My wife has given birth to an orc!'

"Isn't he beautiful, darling?" Arwen looked at her husband with a tired smile on her face. The nurses had changed the bloody sheets and taken the washcloths away, so to Estel it appeared that his thing had popped out of nowhere. He therefore could not put together why the baby was black and blue, its hair tousled up and his eyes seeming to pop out of his face, not to mention the wrinkly skin and half-formed elf ears.

"Honey? Honey? Oh, Estel, he looks just like you!"

'I truly hope not.'

"Here, hold him." She held up Eldarion to her husband, joy in her eyes. "He should see his daddy."

Slowly he took the child up into his arms and looked at it. Looking past the bruises, wrinkles, and weird smell he couldn't identify, he could see why Arwen said they looked alike. Even the eyes, which so often went to the mother, looked like his. He smiled as the baby looked at him, blinking his bug eyes, trying to understand what this strange looking alien was.

"Mae Govannen, Eldarion. eam ada."

Satisfied with this answer, the baby yawned and settled into his father's arms for a nap. The beautiful grey eyes closed, and Estel felt his own brimming with tears.

Giving the baby back to its mother, he looked up and out the nearby window. The sun had risen just above the mountains. The clouds were white and puffy, slow mammoths moving across the sky.

_Dead as Dead can be, the doctor tells me,_

_But I just can't believe him,_

_Ever the optimistic one._

_-A Perfect Circle_

Legolas knew what had happened even before he heard the scream, and his heart filled with the sobs he would not let out. He closed his eyes and ran even faster up the stairs.

Whenever he could, the elf had visited his friend. Especially in the past few years, when King Ellessar's health had gone downhill, he had visited at least once a month. But sometimes, his son Lonnen needed help running the Kingdom of Greenwood, and would summon his father, the real King, to help him. Such had been the case a month ago, when spiders were spotted deep in the forest. No sooner had the matter been resolved when a messenger arrived, saying that the king was gravely ill. Without even saying good bye, he leapt on the nearest horse and urged it on at full gallop. A trip that usually took l 6 days was reduced to a week. Apparently even that hadn't been quick enough.

He reached the top of the steps and flew open the doors to the Houses of Healing. Inside, grey nurses, not used to staying still, sat restlessly in the corners, their whispers echoing in the large stone foyer. Two assistants, their eyes red and leaking, caught his attention. They sat on the window seat which he had reclined on so long ago, a time under much different circumstances and with happier thoughts on his mind.

"Dear Valar… can you imagine?"

"He's been there since I was a little girl…"

"One of his daughters is a friend of mine. How can she possibly feel?"

"The same way you felt when your father died."

As the two started to sob quietly, he found his own eyes watering. It would not be true… this had always happened before… Estel would wake up, and they would laugh about it later over some Mirkwood wine…

"Send messengers to Rohan, the Shire, the Dwarves, Mirkwood, and Ithilien. No need for them to go to Harad or the Southern countries. Oh, excuse me, sir."

Iorien, now the head of the Houses, went over to Legolas. She looked just like her grandmother, with mouse brown hair in a tight bun, piercing green eyes, and small severe lips. Though she barely measured up to his shoulder, she commanded attention from even the guards who stood at the door.

He ran and grabbed her and turned her around with trembling hands. "Ioren, tell me…" tell me that what I think is wrong and that he's all right…

She fought out of his grip; indignancy flashing before the compassion that resided in her soul came out in her voice. "He's gone, my lord. His poor soul departed about 15 minutes ago."

Legolas blinked, and his eyes glazed over like a dead man. How could it be true, when only a month ago he had been able to chase after his grandchildren? Thranduil's words echoed through his mind… "He is human! He is mortal, he will die…To befriend him will be folly, for he will leave you and you will never see him again…even in death…Why do you risk your life for his… when in the end you can not save him."

"…went in about five minutes ago, that was probably the scream you heard."

"Where is he?!" Legolas cried, voice cracking.

"Where he always stayed." She whispered, gesturing to the very room used by an expectant queen what seemed like ages ago.

Legolas sprinted to the door with the ferocity of a dying animal, his thoughts racing faster still. Dead no he can't be dead he can't how could he leave his family here alone how could he leave me…

He flew open the heavy oaken doors, and stopped dead in his tracks.

…When in the end you cannot save him.

He hadn't realized the sun was up until he looked out the large windows. It had ascended over the mountains, but not so much as to drain the colors of dawn. The clouds were red. A bed was outlined by the light, which did not seem to pass the window.

As his eyes adjusted to the strange lighting, he noticed how many people there were. Closest to the bed was his wife, as it should be, surrounded by their seven children. They stood like a boulder in a swift river, with nurses, messengers, aides, and grandchildren running around them. In the darkest corner stood Elrohir, his face in shock. Legolas could only imagine how he was feeling… to lose a mother, father, brother, wife and daughter in only a few hundred years was hard for anyone, without yet another loss. All he had left was his sister, who really was not in the position to comfort him, or anyone for that matter.

She lay over the lump on the bed (he dared not think of it as anything else) sobbing and crying,

"Ú i vethed nâ i onnad. Si boe ú-dhanna."

//This is not the end. It is the beginning. You cannot falter now//

Legolas made a small cough to announce his presence. Arwen snapped up, burning him with her hate and desperation. "You… Did you know that he asked for you last night? That's all he wanted. 'Where is Legolas? Where is he?' All he wanted before he died was to see you one last time, and you could not grant that?"

"I'm sorry…" Legolas walked slowly to her, his eyes down to hide the tears. I'm so sorry Arwen, I wanted to but the horse wouldn't go any faster and please don't look at me that way Arwen…

"SAY SORRY TO HIM!" Her shrieking voice cracked as he walked slowly to the bedside. "Apologize to HIM! He deserves to see his best friend face to face."

I will once again venture to guess that you think King Ellesar died a peaceful death. I will once again correct you by stating that for the most part he did not. Rest assured however that Legolas did not know this; the nurses had changed the sweaty, bloody sheets. But even the thought that his friend did not suffer could not comfort him.

His eyes were closed, concealing grey eyes in a grey face. Grey wrinkles smoothed out by forces unknown. Grey hair held back by a grey band, placed hastily by nurses trying to make the king look presentable to the family waiting anxiously outside. Shrouded up to his neck in white sheets, looking like a ghost. So different from what the elf had known, he could not recognize him but for the feeling in his heart. Didn't they know that Estel's favorite color is blue? He hated grey. He only wore it when he was forced to by Elrond or Arwen. Even at funerals, he would wear black, never grey. So sorry…

"You see what you've done!" Arwen whispered sharply, staring pointedly at Legolas. "All the times before, you would come and save him. You could have saved him, Legolas, why didn't you?" Arwen collapsed once again by her husband's side, clutching his face and sobbing. "Estel…Estel…why…"

Melannen, the eldest daughter, rose from her seat. As Eldarion was to his father, Melannen was to her mother, only with less noticeable ear points. As a child she was always running off and giving the guards migraines. Now grown up and married, she spent much of her time with family; helping Eldarion with speeches, watching her siblings' children, and, of late, keeping her mother sane.

She rushed quietly to her mother's side and helped her mother up. She looked sadly at Legolas, he was not quite sure why. It was only a brief glance though. There was enough to think about, without bearing a grudge.

"Please, mother, calm down. Please…" she whispered as she took Arwen out of the room.

"He is dead, I am dead…"

"Please, mother, don't say such things."

Their voices faded down the halls, and Eldarion's crescendoed.

"I'm sorry, Legolas. My mother hasn't handled the news well. No one has really."

Eldarion looked sorrowfully at the Elf King, then at his father. Legolas almost collapsed when he looked at his friend's son. VALAR he looked so much like Estel. The only feature that betrayed his mother's side was his ears, which for some reason were more defined than his sister's. Even the eyes were the same. Only the father's were closed, and these brimmed with tears.

"The funeral will be held in six weeks. That gives enough time for all the diplomats to arrive." Legolas was surprised by the control in Eldarion's voice. One would think that this was just another administrative meeting, and he was discussing trades between Harad and North Gondor. "I've given the order for the beacons to be lit."

Beacons… they had not been lit since that time so long ago. Legolas had thought they had rotted away, or had been deserted by restless guards. After the Great War, there had been a great neglect of weapons and military strategies. Aragorn had allowed it to happen. In his eyes, the battles were done. He was sick of fighting; all he wanted was to settle down, rule his kingdom, and love his family. And except for a few isolated incidents, the Valar had granted his request. Legolas was surprised the idea had even popped into Eldarion's mind.

"Legolas?"

The elf looked up to see that Eldarion had left him, and that Elrohir had replaced him. The shock had worn off his face, weariness showing in his eyes. He refused to look at the bed.

"Yes?"

"Arwen… she's suffered a lot. She gave up her mother, her father, and her life for him. Don't blame her for her actions."

A long pause. Both of the elves shifted uncomfortably in the silence. The siblings nodded at each other and rose, filing out. Each had their own motives for leaving, but all shared a single thought: they couldn't stand seeing their father like that anymore.

When the last footsteps died off, Elrohir spoke again. "My sister… was lying. He only asked for you a couple times. I told him you were delayed…he understood."

"Did you see him die?" Legolas whispered, choking back a sob. Which hurt more: the fact that Estel had wanted to see him, or the fact that he did not?

"No, but we were there for a time. Last evening…" Elrohir cleared his throat, "…he asked all but the nurses, Arwen and I to leave… he didn't want his children to see him die." He took a shaky breath. "We stayed by him. Talked to him. He tried to make us believe he was fine, but we could see in his eyes that he knew the truth…when the sky turned grey with the first dawn, he went into convulsions. The nurses pushed us out. That's the last time…I am sorry, Legolas."

Unsure what to reply, Legolas looked down at the floor. "Thank you… I'm sorry for your loss as well."

Elrohir bit his lip, nodded, and walked out for the same reasons as his nieces and nephews. Looking up, Legolas realized the room was empty and silent. Empty chairs were the only vigil for the dead king now. The dead king dead dead dead dead...

Dead.

Legolas fell on his knees and sobbed.

Chapter 2

_To think I might not see those eyes,_

_Makes it so hard not to cry_

_And as we say our long goodbyes,_

_I nearly do…_

_-Snow Patrol, "Run"_

I stare at you, mellon, and at those who surround you. There are thousands here, Estel. Thousands. Many more than there were at your coronation. See how many you have left behind? They will all miss you. No one will forget you.

The first to arrive were the ones from Osgiliath and Ithilien. You rebuilt their cities, and now they are more beautiful than ever. Osgiliath is a center of the arts, a flourishing culture center. Ithilien's forests are the lushest and greenest next to Greenwood, and far less malevolent. You, Estel, you did all this.

And then the men of Rohan came, wearing red and gold. Eomer and his wife are dead, but their son is a strong leader who continues his parent's- and grandparent's- proud tradition. He came, along with diplomats from all the provinces that came to aid in the War of the Ring. He wanted to make a point: that their country would never forget all you did for them.

You'll laugh at this, but some hobbits even came. Not Merry or Pippin, for they died years ago. But their children, who still live in Edoras, came on ponies, bearing their most treasured possession: pipe weed. They had remembered that you loved the stuff. It's sad that you will never smoke it with them this side of death.

Gimli came a couple days ago, along with his eldest son to help him. His beard is grey and he can't run even short distances, but he is strong nonetheless and will live a few more years. He cried openly when he saw your body. Apparently, under those pelts of disgusting skin, dwarves do have a heart.

My children Lonnen and Laurelin came yesterday. Do you remember when they were born? I remember very well. Our places were reversed; I tormenting the nurses, you laughing at my plights. And when my wife Lineth gave that last scream before they were delivered, I fell down clutching at my heart, thinking that cry was my own. I ran in, only to be pushed back out by the healers. My wife wouldn't stop bleeding, they told me, and that my presence would only hinder their efforts. It all happened so fast, I didn't worry until I explained it to you. Your eyes widened in fear, and I suddenly realized why. She was dying.

Yet somehow she pulled through. They stopped the bleeding before it reached an irreplaceable level. You and I both wept with relief when we heard that she was all right, and that I had healthy twins. That was something you never had. Ha! You had more kids, but no twins!

She was weak though for the rest of her short life. You knew that, I remember. Whenever you talked to her, you took on a tone as if speaking to a child. She hated that, and one day told me so. But I never told you, because the next time I saw you, it didn't matter anymore.

She had been playing with Lonnen. He wanted to race with nana, rough house with nana, practice archery with nana. She tried her best to keep up with him, but he was just too much for her. Exhausted after a hard hour of play, she went into her room to take a nap. She never woke up. Did I ever tell you that Lonnen found her first? He wanted to say sorry for making her tired. He climbed into bed with her, and tried talking to nana. But she didn't respond. She just lay there, feeling colder by the minute. Now I know how that must feel, now that I'm talking to you, cold and dead.

Valar, Estel… I miss you.

So many died for you. Many pledged their loyalty to you, hung on your every word, and paid dearly for it. Some helped you escape, some kept hope alive, and some just loved you too much to leave you. They all are dead now, wandering in Mandos, waiting for they don't know how long. Think about it. Who is left from the war? Gimli, Elrohir, and I are the only three. And now that you are gone, we too shall leave this world.

It's all arranged. Elrohir has signed the papers turning Rivendell over to the Kingdom of Gondor, and Gimli and I have taught our sons how to rule justly over our lands. The horses are waiting in the nearby stable, pacing irritably as they wait for their riders. We will send you off to Mandos properly, and then we will race to Valinor to see those who have gone before. Elrond, Ada, Lineth, Galadriel… just not you

The funeral is ending, and people are filing away from your tomb. They are going to see the King's Coronation, out in the same courtyard you were at years ago. Eldarion is trying to appear somber and calm, but he's shaking. He's more nervous than you were, if that's at all possible. I wish him luck in the years to come, and I pray that he will be remembered well in songs and poems of the minstrels in the ages to come. But I will never know.

Gimli, Elrohir, and I glance at each other. We join the last stragglers on the way out, silent, reflecting our future. Looking back, I notice that Arwen is still there, holding your face and crying. Elrohir sees this too. Choking back a sob, he walks to her side and puts a hand on her shoulder. She shudders and nods. Rising up, she falls into Elrohir's arms.

"I will never see you again…" she whispers into her brother's chest. "Never… tell Ada and Nana… I love them…and Elladan…"

My eyes tear up, and Elrohir starts to cry. He's holding your wife tightly, wishing he could comfort her. It's at these times I believe he hates you for taking his sister away. Don't worry; it's only a small twinge in his eyes, not enough to really hurt you. Right now he's too sad to be angry. He just clutches Arwen and whispers yes, yes, I promise…I love you.

Gimli looks down and shifts uncomfortably. He has never been comfortable with teary moments, unless they're on his terms. One last glance at the two, and we walk outside, shutting the black doors behind us.

Namariie, mellon.

_Do not go gentle into that good night,_

_Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_-Dylan Thomas_

"Ada! Ada! Can I wear your crown? Please oh please please???!" Eldarion squealed, jumping up and down. It was right after lunch in the middle of summer, and the boy was burning up his mid-day meal like a hummingbird.

Ellessar smiled and knelt down to his son's height. "Well, maybe. What do you need it for?"

"Me, Lonnen, Elboron and Melanenn are playing King and Queen, and Lonnen said I need a crown if I want to play you. So can I borrow it?" Eldarion put on his best pout and widened his eyes until they seemed to make up half his face.

"Oh…. All right." Aragorn smiled and took his crown off the stand on the dresser. "But be very careful with it. It's very heavy, and if you dent it you'll be grounded… or worse." Happily, Eldarion knelt before his father, who in mock-sobriety gently placed the headpiece on his son's head.

Eldarion blinked. The sun faded and the sky clouded. A soft drizzle had just started outside. While he was in the same room, the circumstances were entirely different. Holding the same crown, the same scepter, he had toyed with as a child. Now here he was, a man, not a child, in the King's Chambers.

The day had been filled with mortality. It started at his father's funeral. Standing there next to his mother and siblings, knowing he had to be the strong one, but really wanting to fall next to his mother and sob. The sky was clouding then, blocking out the sun as soundly as at the battle of Pelennor (or so he'd been told). He took the condolences in stride, watching each passing face carefully. The faces of the advisors were obviously faked; he knew they thought he would give them more power. Despite his father's best efforts to make everyone happy, he'd had his share of enemies in his time. Some he could deal with using a sword and arrows, but never had he tamed the bureaucratic weasels. He had also seen true faces of sympathy. Barion, son of Elboron, grandson of Faramir and the steward of Gondor, had to wipe tears from his cheeks every few seconds. The normal citizens, who considered the king to be one of them, placed flowers and candles at his side. Some sang dirges and lamentations, most of them off-key but all filled with true grief.

And then there was Legolas. Eldarion couldn't help but hate him right now. He had stood there, stoic, just as he himself was. But whereas Eldarion was pushing through this hard time, Legolas had given up. Eldarion left with the last mourners, hoping to collect himself before going out to accept his new title. But he stayed behind a second too long, and of course he looked back. He watched his uncle and mother hold each other, and heard their words of farewell. This confused him for a moment. Where were they going? Was Elledan going back to Rivendell? But then he realized with a punch what was truly happening. Legolas, Elledan, and Gimli were leaving this world.

"How could you?" Eldarion yelled at Legolas as the elf closed the doors. "Gondor needs you right now! I need you to help me rule Gondor!"

Legolas walked toward the stable, an impenetrable sense of peace about him. "I thought that was your job."

"But I need someone to side with me!"

"Your family will help you."

"But they are helpless with grief. Legolas, I need you!"

"No you don't. You're an adult, Eldarion. You have your father's brains, you can work it out."

"But my father always had you!"

Such the conversation continued to the stable. Without a word, Legolas helped the silent Gimli on and mounted himself.

"The papers handing over Rivendell are in your quarters, my king." He said stoically. "May Gondor prosper for many years. Namariie."

They galloped off before Eldarion could comprehend what had happened. He stood there numbly, still gaping as Elrohir passed him and mounted his own horse. Eldarion broke his trance and stared at his uncle with unbridled hatred. Elrohir shrugged.

"Legolas and I, we have nothing to stay for anymore. Do your father proud, Eldarion."

Eldarion gave his uncle one last glare and walked off to his ceremony.

The coronation had been a mixture of numbness and grief. Barion had placed the crown on his head, bringing back memories of what it was like to lose his best friend. Elboron was, after all, a human, and had died at 65 from an infected wound. Though it was 22 years ago, Eldarion still remembered how strange it felt to watch his friend go from the prime of youth to an old man in half the time he would. He would never forget how small he felt as Elboron breathed his last and his entire body relaxed into his friend's arms. He could empathize with Legolas that far; to lose your best friend was the worst thing in the world.

And then after the ceremony, he walked through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting congratulations and condolences. No one was really happy about him being king, though. In their eyes, he could never live up to his father. And truly, he doubted that he could.

He talked to Lonnen after that. To their fathers' disappointment, they had never been close. Lonnen was a bookworm, the type that sat in the ancient archives for days on end (10 days was the elf's record; reading about old trade routes). He, on the other hand, rode horses bareback in the afternoon and hunted just about every type of game. He couldn't stand being indoors for long. These differences were too much to overcome, and it showed whenever they talked. Today, they had simply stared at each other for a long moment.

"That was a very nice ceremony." Lonnen finally said.

"Thank you."

Another long awkward moment.

"Did you hear what your father is doing?" Eldarion finally ventured.

"He's going to a better place."

"Don't you feel betrayed?"

Lonnen stared at the human with an indifferent look that hid the anger beneath. "Why should I? It's his choice. He has nothing left."

"He has a son left." Eldarion retorted.

The elf darkened. "He thinks I can take care of myself."

"Can you?"

It was Lonnen's turn to storm off. Eldarion shrugged and walked to his chambers. He knew Lonnen was truly angry at his father, but was unwilling to do anything about it. And now he sat alone, in his father's room, in his father's chair, with his father's crown, trying to think of anything but his father.

Araven, his wife, crept into his room. She was a beautiful woman, albeit not very smart, with red hair and sea-green eyes. Her soft face and body, virtually untarnished by her recent pregnancy, had a certain fluidity in its movement, which comforted all by its simple presence. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"The advisors and stewards want to speak to you."

Eldarion sighed. "Must I? Can't I get away from their politics for a day at least?"

His wife smiled sadly. "You've been avoiding them for the past month. You might as well get over it and go see them."

"I know." He stared off into space for a second, then stood up. "I'm king now, aren't I?"

Araven smiled and straightened up as if to leave. "The baby needs me."

"I need you."

"I'm always here for you." She gently kissed him again as she left him alone again in his father's chambers.

_I'm sure of your ability_

_To become my perfect enemy…_

_-A Perfect Circle, "Passive"_

The hardest part isn't the killing, he thought as he shifted slightly behind the bushes, it's the waiting.

He silently rubbed his legs, trying to relax the tense muscles. It was getting close now. The sun was almost set, and the changing of the guard would entail. After that he only needed the right moment…

He touched his knife absentmindedly. He had found it a couple years ago when he was swimming in the river near his home. It was dull and rusty when he almost stepped on it, but a whetstone and a little cleaning had given the object back its former glory. At no more than 5 inches, it was light and maneuverable, good for leaving as small a mess as possible. Looking up to make sure the light wouldn't reflect, he took it out of his belt and turned it gently in his hand. He often wondered who had owned it before him. A great elf warrior, like Glorfindel or Feanor? His own parents, dead and gone? Even perhaps a small child, playing in the river, overestimating their swimming ability and going too far in?

He shook his head and sheathed the dagger. There was work to be done, and it was almost time.

The time approached for the Tomb Guards to switch. While the noon changing was filled with a lot of ceremony, the night switch, he had noticed, was almost sloppy. The guards taking over were never too happy about having to guard a couple dead people, and as this night was a weekend they were especially restless. They leaned against the wall, making themselves as comfortable as possible without sitting down and risk being caught by their superiors. Within half an hour however, the guards had slumped to the ground, slowly giving into the sleep helped along by certain herbs slipped into their glasses.

The last trace of light faded out behind the mountains. High in the air a falcon circled.

The elf leapt out, sprinting in a blur to the tomb doors. He leapt at the first guard, then the second. All that existed was the sing of metal, the confused shouts quickly muffled, the spatter of blood from the jugular veins cut open effortlessly, and the feeling of death rising as homage to the heavens.

The murderer crouched down against the cool stones for a moment, letting the adrenaline fade away. He knew that the next task would require a clear head and steady hands, neither of which he had at the moment. He glanced at the bodies, twisted and contorted with unknown screams. Victims of circumstance, but the enemy nonetheless. He chanted a blessing, breathing away the tension inside. After what seemed like hours his heartbeat returned to normal, and he slowly opened the door.

He moved quickly and silently down the pitch-black hall. Not that anyone would have heard his noise. No one was bound to find the Guards for another 20 minutes, which was more than he really needed. He simply couldn't help but feel queasy around the dark silent tombs. He had been taught that death should rise up to the heavens, it was stuck down here and stagnated, creating an almost unbearable feeling of evil. It felt like the first (and last) time he had questioned Ada…

He pushed that bad memory out as he neared the embalming chamber. Ada had told him that was where he would find the body, and Ada was always right.

The elf gingerly opened the door and stepped in, lighting a solitary torch to work by. Tools and water basins danced in the wary light, creating a very sinister tone for the room. But the same light outlined a granite slab bearing a shrouded body. For the first time that day he grinned. His quarry had been spotted.

Without a word he once again took out his knife, still bloody from the previous deaths. He wiped it on the white sheet that covered the body. He knew it was foolish to leave unnecessary blood at a scene. But he hated dirt, or mud, or blood. Checking in what light he had if it was clean, he placed it back into his belt and took out a second knife.

While this blade was not his favorite, it was the only one his father had small enough to go unnoticed but large enough to get the job done. It was heavy, about a foot long, with a dark brown hilt and elvish runes along the curved blade. Ada told him that there was once gold on the end, but he had been forced to take it off and sell it a very long time ago. It was truly a pity to have to demolish such a work of art.

For a moment he glanced down at the human. Ada had told him his name. Elessar, wasn't it? Strange name for a human, as it was elvish. Ada had also spoke of his past. Someone important, as far as he could remember. Had several children, and a couple grandchildren as well. And he had a wife too. He remembered that part of the conversation clearly. Ada had paused for a second, his eyes going cold. When he asked what was wrong, Ada shook his head, murmured something about being tired, and continued on with his instructions.

He took the right hand of Ellesar and spaced apart the stiffened fingers. Gripping the knife hard he raised it high. With a sickening crack it fell upon the ring finger. The old man's bones were weak, taking only one chop to cut through sinew and bone. He caught the finger before it rolled off the table, and glanced at it with morbid curiosity. If the man were alive blood would spurt everywhere, but this was almost like chopping a carrot, it was so clean…

Now came the final step. He took out the paper, folded by ada so it fit like a ring, and slid it onto the man's severed finger. He picked up the corpse and flung it over his back like a sack of flour. He wanted to laugh at how conspicuous it would have been if anyone was to see him, but wisely stayed silent. At least Ada was only a night's run away. He placed the ringed finger gently on the table then ran as fast as he could into the night, the torch still burning strong.

Chapter 3

_Take this kiss upon the brow_

_And, in parting from you now,_

_Thus much let me avow-_

_You are not wrong, who deem _

_That my days have been a dream;_

_All that we see or seem_

_Is but a dream within a dream_

_-Edgar Allen Poe_

In this dream there was his father's body, not yet entombed. It sat He wanted to run, but as in most dreams, he could do nothing but move forward though the mist. It was night time, and the only light came from two torches flickering faintly through the fog. It was only

"I wanted to talk to Estel. I didn't know he was…I said some things I wanted to apologize for…" his voice dropped into a whisper. "the valar said I could see him, I thought it's only been a couple years, I didn't even think they'd had any kids yet. I didn't know it was so long…"

The room gave way to a crimson void in the blink of an eye. Eldarion plummeted through the nothingness screaming, trying to hold on to something to stop his descent. Instead he grasped images, both his and other's. His father lying on the cold stone. Rings forged, destroyed, remade. Knives sharpened and ready for battle. And the cold, hollow sound, of chopping vegetables on stone counters…

Eldarion shot up in his bed, his bare chest covered in sweat. He gasped for breath that would not come, trying to remember why he lay in his dead father's bed. In threads it came back, his wife sleeping next to him, the crown on the stand 15 feet away, the coronation…

Someone grabbed his shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and Eldarion slapped off the hand with one deft move. He spun around, ready to punch the life out of his supposed kidnapper. Instead of looking into a masked, evil face, he looked into the eyes of a young, scared guard.

"M-My Lord?" the boy ventured nervously. "The Guard captain wishes to speak with you sir."

"What time is it?"

"1 am, sir."

Eldarion sighed. The fear had worn off, and once again he felt the effects of his long day. "Can it wait?"

"No, my lord."

"Fine. I'll be out in a moment."

The guard ran out, anxious to forget the near-beating he received at the hands of his host.

Eldarion dressed in a daze, trying to imagine what was wrong. Had one of the guards taken leave of their post? He hoped not. This happened often, boredom usually the culprit. It could be something simply handled by another one. Had a brawl broken out in one of the bars, populated by the off-duty and truant guards? That too would not require the attention of the king.

Had something happened to his son? At this thought Eldarion moved more swiftly. His siblings and himself had been kidnapped more than once as children, and he knew how ruthless those kinds of criminals could be. He had been fortunate; no one had yet laid a hand upon the toddler. But there was always a first time for everything…

He finished and walked out to face the guard captain. He was an older veteran, who, judging by the scar on his cheek and the missing right earlobe, knew more about combat than the current protectors of Gondor. Without a word, he walked away and beckoned Eldarion to follow.

After a couple minutes they reached the trouble, and Eldarion felt his stomach curdle. Two guards lay facedown on the stone, fresh blood still seeping into the ground. Their clouded eyes stared in horror at whatever fate had befallen them. Eldarion knelt and turned one over. In the dim torch lights, a long deep cut ran across the boy's neck could be seen. The other looked the same.

"Who did this?" Eldarion finally muttered.

"Do you think we would have told you if we did? But this isn't the worst part." The captain stared at the boys. "None of my men have died since I was young. And these… they were new. Look at them, they didn't even draw their swords."

Eldarion nodded. He understood all too well what the captain meant. His father had often talked of the War of the Ring, how the people of Gondor had stood ready to fight Sauron. He had heard the minstrel's ballads of the brave soldiers who, driven by Denethor the Mad, rode out to death. But only the great-grandparents of men had been there, even the guard captain had heard the stories from his parents. Gone were the days of valor and glory. The guards either were goaded into their posts by ambitious parents or took it to occupy their lazy days. Bureaucrats and "advisors" walked through the halls, pouncing on the opportunity to get closer to the family. Even his friends sometimes sucked up to him, hoping for a favor from the Prince (now King) of Gondor.

"There's more to see, my lord."

The captain motioned to his men, and they filed back out to their posts with disquiet thoughts. A cold wind whistled past the two men. In his now familiarly silent manner, he walked into the catacombs. Eldarion, holding his increasing panic in check, followed.

"I don't think that anyone outside of your family should hear of this." The steady voice began to shake. "The deaths of the guards will be enough of a shock to the people of this city. They don't need to know…"

Eldarion began to guess what had happened. He attempted and failed to ignore his upset stomach. "Just tell me what's happened, captain. What's wrong?"

The guard finally reached the embalming room and opened the door. Eldarion gagged.

The table was not bloody, there was no sign of death, there was almost nothing on it. Which was the problem. Aragorn's body, his father's body, was gone. All except for a lone ringfinger laying in the center.

The guard bowed out of the room, reasoning that the King would need some time alone to figure out what in the world to do. The silence in the chambers deafened Eldarion as he walked vaguely to examine the lone appendage. This couldn't happen. Couldn't. Why would it? Nothing in the history of Middle Earth had happened like this. No one had ever sunk so low as to steal an old man's _**DEAD**_ body. Why? Why this? Why Ada? He thought that almost everyone loved their King. Who would do this? Who would hate this man so much to kill him, even after his death? How-

His thoughts were distracted by the white band wrapped around the finger. Awkwardly he reached for it and slipped it off the cold, rock-hard pinkie and examined it. It was a paper ring! His sisters had learned from their mother how to make them. They would send notes to each other during banquets and boring ceremonies, simply passing the rings from finger to finger. He unfolded it, curiosity mixing with his growing horror, and began to read.

_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,_

_Because their words had forked no lightning they_

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

_-Dylan Thomas_

_30 years earlier…_

Aragorn watched the nurses with a kind of mild amusement as they ran about his bedside. He felt bad for finding their panic comical, but he couldn't help himself. This was the fifth time he had collapsed at an important meeting, and they still hadn't figured it out. A nurse held up an herb, and like a good patient Estel took it. He was certain, though it had yet to be confirmed by anyone else, that human medicine tasted worse than the elven stuff he grew up taking. He would have to ask one of his children if they agreed.

Legolas burst into the room for the fifty-fourth time in the past 10 years (yes, he had counted). Eldarion stood quietly in the doorway, staring at his father with concern. Aragorn winked at his son before the door slammed shut from the momentum. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Eldarion smile in understanding.

The routine was the same as the fifty three times before. Legolas ran desperately to his friend's bedside, staring with concern at his friend's pale face. He yelled at the nurses to leave the two of them alone for 10 minutes, just ten minutes for Illuvatir's sake! The nurses, accustomed to the elf's outbursts, quietly filed out of the room. When the last of the women closed the door firmly, Legolas burst into a soft laugh.

"Truly, mellon, when will you stop faking sick? I will admit, your methods have become more sophisticated since you were little."

"Maybe I will stop when the advisors stop their banter." Aragorn returned the smile and spit out the bitter herb into a napkin of Legolas' providing. "I should make you and Elrohir citizens of Gondor, so I could place you on my council."

Legolas chuckled. "You couldn't have picked a better time to die. I was running out of things to talk about with Eldarion and Melannen."

"I don't see why you always have trouble with talking to them. They're not children anymore. Simply treat them like they're the same age as you.

"I'm sorry mellon, but I changed their diapers and picked up their toys. It's hard to see them as my age, not just recently potty-trained toddlers."

Aragorn laughed. "True, but Elrohir did it! You should see him and my kids. He's their best friend!"

Legolas shook his head. "He's had practice."

For a moment comfortable silence reigned. Aragorn sighed and shifted his pillow. Legolas stared out over the bed, locked in his thoughts. Finally, Estel spoke again.

"I'm not afraid of death, Legolas."

The air seemed to chill about them both as Legolas stared in fear disguised as confusion at his friend. "Why do you say that, friend? You aren't old yet."

Aragorn smiled cynically. "By an elf's standards, I'm but a child. By human standards, I've lived almost three lifetimes I'm 190 years old, Legolas. And despite my best attempts, I am beginning to feel old. It pains me to write letters or to sign proclamations. I'm afraid to ride at full speed because I'm not sure I can hold on to the reins. And today… today I almost fainted at breakfast."

Legolas faced his friend with genuine concern. "Did you tell anyone?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Aren't you afraid they'll think you're joking?"

"The only ones who know I did NOT just collapse from unknown ailments are you and Eldarion and Arwen. I trust all three of you will be able to tell when I'm lying and when I'm not."

Legolas nodded, though he was obviously not comfortable with the idea.

"Even if you can't tell, I don't mind this treatment. When I was young, I hated being treated like a helpless child. But now, I might as well be, so I don't care if they baby me."

"Don't talk like that, Estel!" Legolas looked painfully at his friend. "You are not dead yet. You aren't close to death. Don't talk like that until you're about to die. Try not to think about the future. Focus on the past and the now. You've accomplished so much, don't let that all go to waste because you only think of death!" His voice cracked and he choked on an unwanted sob. "Estel, please don't think of death! Don't think of mortality. Try to remember those days, not these."

"Look into my eyes, Legolas." Aragorn whispered.

Legolas stared for a long moment at those gray eyes. He remembered those eyes when they were still vividly colorful. But while these eyes still held the dignity of a king, the color, the vivacity of them had depleted into the lightest gray. Legolas looked at the wrinkles around the eyes, few enough to still have life left but enough so you knew that Estel's life was all downhill from here. He saw the same mischief and intelligence he always saw, but now pain and sorrow shared equally as well. Legolas saw all this, and he understood.

"I will die, Legolas." Aragorn spoke condescendingly, though with a hint of ice to his words. "Not today, not tomorrow, but someday all too soon. I promise to never speak of this again before you, but that doesn't mean it will all go away like you wish it would. Do you understand what I'm saying, mellon?"

Legolas readjusted his pillow, repositioned the blankets and rubbing alcohol in his eyes (he always had to come out of there sobbing). "Yes, Estel." He murmured, deceptively passive

He opened the door for the nurses and then left himself, going out to the courtyard to rejoin Eldarion.

Chapter 4

"What do you want, ion nin?" Arwen whispered.

A cold wind rustled the empty branches in the courtyard, causing the moonlight to shake violently. On a stone bench in the middle of the courtyard sat the shell of his mother, staring blankly at the cobblestones beneath her.

Eldarion felt both pity and revulsion at the sight of her. Her unbrushed hair hung about her haggard face, eyes caved into black pits. For the first time in memory she did not hold herself up with the confidence that a happy life brings, but was slouched over like the toothless old women he saw on the city streets. This wasn't the strong, steely woman who had held off flirting advisors with not only a glare but at swordpoint. Her body held nothing, no feeling, no soul. It took him all his willpower to ask what he needed to.

"I received… a letter." He choked out. "My elvish isn't what it was, and much of this I can't make out. Can… you translate this for me?" He held the parchment out, waiting to see what would happen.

Seconds passed. Tentatively she grabbed it and began to read to herself. As she read it, her eyes grew wider. By the end of the letter, she was shaking as hard as the overhanging branches. "His body… gone?"

"Yes." Eldarion whispered, afraid of the affect those three letters would have on her.

Surprisingly, it was very little. She bit her lip, and slowly translated the letter for her son:

_Do you remember me? I'd be very disappointed if you didn't. After all, I remember you very well._

_I've recently been informed of your husband's all too late demise. I still do not understand why you married him. You were much too good for him. He was a mortal and a terrible ruler._

_As you can see, I have taken your husband's body. For each death I cause, one more appendage will be cut off if you do not follow my instructions. _

_I wish to see you again. Bring yourself to the courtyard in Imladris by the end of May, and you may reclaim your husband's body. You must be alone; all those that follow you will be dealt with._

A long silence followed. There was an almost unnatural break in the wind, which left everything in the garden in total stillness.

"Is there a name?" Eldarion ventured.

"No..." She whispered to the stones below her.

Eldarion took back the letter from his pale but frighteningly composed mother, and left her alone among the dead shrubs.

Back in his room, he glanced down at the elvish text in frustration. He knew she had lied. Once as a child he had doused his father in a bucket of mudparents had always pushed him to learn Elvish, they had spoken to him in both Common and Elvish interchangeably since birth. However, he had gotten out of the habit. There were very few elves left, and many knew and dominantly used the language of Gondor, so he had never found a place to use it exclusively. But the letter was much longer than she had made it seem. He stared at the letters which seemed to merge together. Then one phrase came together-

"…tell you he killed your daughter?"

He caught his breath.

Glancing longingly at his bed, he began to painstakingly translate the letter. He did not finish until the sun was fully up and the entire city awake.

Do you remember now, melleth nin? Remember me? I'd be very disappointed if you didn't. After all, I remember all too clearly the words we said to one another alone in the cave. The one time Legolas didn't come between us two, the one time you showed me your true feelings. It'd be a pity if you'd forgotten such a wonderful night.

Something has come to my attention of late. It seems that after that wonderful night the Elf Prince no longer held your interest. Instead, you seemed to have developed a taste for weaker males, namely, humans. Why did you marry this man? Your reasoning is still vague to me. He wasn't nearly good enough for you. And in the end he turned to be murderous.

Did he ever tell you that? Did he ever tell you that he killed your daughter? I saw him stick a knife in her side, then not even finish her off quickly, though she begged for a quick death like the child she was. I hate him for that. That merciless, pitiless Engwar should have died along with his parents, nay, his mother should have miscarried and then threw herself to the wolves after stabbing her husband out of grief. But I digress; we must continue on.

I've taken your husband's body, as you can well see (but maybe you've been stricken blind, since who would marry such an ugly man?). For each of your dear ones I kill, one more finger will be cut off. If need be I'll chop away at his toes, then his hands and feet, and then his arms and legs. I will mutilate him until there is nothing left but his eyeless, earless, jawless, hairless head if you do not follow my instructions.

I have been missing you. In fact, I've been missing everyone. Where I am, it can be so lonely. So I'd like this: group yourself, Legolas, and Elrohir someplace where no one will disturb you. I'll take care of the rest. I request that it be close, as it is hard to travel from where I am

Remember, one will die each week. Make haste, we don't want to wipe out the line of Isildur, do we? All I want is you and Legolas and Elrohir, though anyone who accompanies will, of course, share your fate. Make your choice quickly.

Ever yours,

Tirion

Years earlier…

"Why did you attack us!?!" Aragorn screamed at his wide-eyed captive. "Who sent you!?"

Elrohir persisted. "Elladan… I need him. Where is he?"

"You see the ones you wounded? The ones you killed? What did they do to you? For the Valar's sake, WHO SENT YOU?!?!"

"If you kill me, I will go to Mandos, and they will see my cause as just."

"What was this great cause? To kill women and children?"

Elrohir's questions grew increasingly desperate. "Estel! Estel! Where is he? Where's Elladan?"

Chapter 5

_Leaning over you here,_

_Cold and catatonic,_

_I catch a brief reflection_

_Of what you could and might have been,_

_It's your right and your ability_

_To become my perfect enemy…_

_-A Perfect Circle, "Passive"_

"Why did you lie to me, nana!?" Eldarion asked, trying to keep his anger in check and failing miserably.

The door remained closed to him, but he could hear her moving around. He had been standing outside her chambers for about 10 minutes now, ever since he'd finished translating the letter.

"I read the letter, nana. I know you lied." Of course that was a little lie in itself. His mother hadn't lied, she'd merely changed the tone of the letter, and omitted certain parts, like the existence of a sister. He had to admit, this was the angriest he had ever been.

Through his anger, he thought he heard a choking noise, almost like a sob. He thought it came from his mother's room, and started another episode of ranting.

"Mother, we all make mistakes. And if you did…love Legolas, I just want you to admit it. I just want to know the truth. Nana…"

"'Dar!"

But the cry wasn't from the room. He glanced behind him and saw nothing. He was about to disregard what he'd just heard, when he saw something lying in his periphery. Something lying in a puddle of…

He forgot the letter and rushed to the side of his nephew, Melannen's son, not yet six years old. The child's breath was ragged, but no other sound was coming. He lay in a dark corner of the hall, and Eldarion had a hard time finding the source of the wound. When he finally felt his fingers sink unnaturally deep into the child's side, his nephew let out a scream that would have made an orc shudder.

"Uncle 'Dar, help me!" He yelled as he clutched to Eldarion's shirt. Even in the shadows the boy's eyes were red and tear-filled. "It hurts so much…"

"HELP!!!" Eldarion yelled louder than he ever had before. Almost immediately, he heard footsteps coming. He wished they would run faster…

"Uncle 'Dar…please…" The boy's voice dropped down to almost a whisper, "He was right… I am afraid of death…"

"No…no…no. Stay with me…"

But it was already too late. He knew even as people finally arrived panting and armed that his nephew wouldn't breathe again.

At the same time, he heard his mother's door unlock.

If Eldarion had been tired that morning, he was wide awake now. It almost sickened him, the way death made his adrenaline spike. This couldn't be natural. But his heart had been pounding all the way to the houses of healing, where he was told what he already knew, was still pounding when he returned to the hallway and found the finger- a pinkie this time- that he had expected to find. It was still pounding when he asked one of the servants if they had seen his mother at all that day.

"No, my lord. I haven't heard a sound from her. I thought she was still in bed…"

His heart was still threatening to break through his ribs when he reached for the bedroom door knob and turned it, finding no resistance. But it stopped when he surveyed the scene inside.

Everything was at first glance organized and clean, which is what unnerved him. There was nobody in the room to mess things up. Carefully, Eldarion stepped further into the room. The one thing out of place in this too-neat room was a letter, folded up and sealed with the royal crest. Carefully, trying to remember to breathe, he picked up the letter and began to read. It was written in the common tongue, and took only seconds to read through:

_Eldarion,_

_What you must think of me. I have lied to you, something I never wanted to do to you. I haven't stopped crying, which must unnerve and anger you. And now you must think I had something to do with the death of Melannen's son. I feel I owe you a quick explanation. He is coming to find me, I have no time to talk, so I must be brief._

_Tirion and I knew each other in Rivendell. He is a very dangerous, unstable man. Do not believe everything he says, though he will stand by his every word, more often than not he lies to himself._

_I am going to Rivendell. If I am lucky, he will follow, and not kill anyone else from our family. If you are like your father, you will disregard anything I say about not following me. However, for the first time in my life I wish you will not act like him._

_There is nothing else I can say, I can hear him coming. Stay safe. Find Legolas and ask him._

_Nana_

Below there was an almost illegible scrawl in elvish. Though it was only one sentence, it took him what seemed like an eternity to read it:

Send Legolas and Elrohir to Rivendell, human, or find your mother's head sent to you in a basket.


End file.
